


The Letters

by DragonGirl420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, song prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-23 21:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15615279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl420/pseuds/DragonGirl420
Summary: They met when they were kids, and stayed in touch once Dean left with his dad and brother. Years later, the Winchesters are back in town and this time their visit changes the entire course of the reader’s life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was from a request for a fic with the song Snuff by Slipknot as the prompt. Song lyrics used in the fic are bolded.

 

 

 

It started innocently enough, around the time when your sister Annie became sick and admitted to the hospital like so many of the other kids in the neighborhood.

When you were 12, Dean Winchester rolled into town with his dad, John, and brother, Sam. Your dad was the Sheriff, and you can remember him having them over quite a bit. All your father would tell you was that they were there to help Annie and that you should be hospitable to the boys as they were around your age. After dinner, it was time for the grown-ups to talk, and you, Dean and Sam were exiled beyond the closed wooden doors to do whatever you wanted. Mostly, you and Dean played on your Nintendo while Sam begged for a turn.

This went on for more than a week and, in that short time, Dean became your best friend. He helped distract you from the idea of losing your sister by thinking of things you could do for her when she finally came home from the hospital. Dean made you laugh and told you exciting stories about their travels; he was the coolest boy you’d ever met. He always made you smile and feel like you could handle anything that happened.

When it was over, and time for them to leave, you remember crying. You put your arms tightly around Dean’s neck and asked him to write to you when he could. He said he would try. They had done what they came to do, saved Annie and all the other kids in the town, and disappeared into the dark of night.

An occasional letter would come every few months, and while you knew he had no permanent address, he told you to send them to someone named Bobby Singer, and that he would get them when he could. He talked about the different schools his dad would make him go to, the kids that he met and the ones that continually gave him and Sam a hard time. Dean wrote about how hard it was to be a good big brother to Sam and a good son to John. Once, he even confided in you that he’d thought of taking off on his own, but in the end, he couldn’t leave Sam.

When you wrote back, you’d tell him not to worry; that he was perfect the way he was because he was always trying. In the last letter you wrote, you got brave enough to admit about a dream you had of him where you kissed. He never replied to that one though. Eventually, the letters stopped, and over time, memories of Dean started to fade.

Seven years later, it happened again. Only you and Annie were older, and the memories of the previous threat were forefront in your mind. When you heard the whispers and rumblings of the townsfolk talking about all the children falling ill, you knew that whatever reason the Winchesters had come before, was happening again.

You’d gone to your father about it, hoping he had a quick way to call John back to town. Now six months away from retirement, your father waved you off, asking, “John, who?” As if none of it had ever happened.

“But, Annie… when we were kids. She got really sick, remember? All the kids did, dad. John, Dean, Sam… they came here in that old black car. They ate at this table! I was friends’ with his boys!”

You turned to Annie for help, but she would shrug and simply apologize. “I’m sorry sissy, I honestly don’t remember being in the hospital.”

He just stared into his meal and pretended not to hear anything you were saying. It was both infuriating and scary because at times you doubted it ever really happened. Then you would reread Dean’s old letters and know for certain, it had.

Taking matters into your own hands, you searched your room until you found the address Dean had given you so many years before. Using the limited internet the library on your college campus offered, you searched for the name Bobby Singer with the address you had in South Dakota. Calling several of the numbers listed, you finally found the one you were looking for. The old, gruff voice on the other end was short and dismissive at first, but as soon as you invoked the Winchester name, his tone changed completely. He listened to your story intently and promised you that he would get in touch with John; that someone would be there soon to handle whatever was happening to the children of the town.

Within twenty-four hours, you heard the rumble of the old black car’s engine in front of the house. The Winchesters were back and ready to help. As if no time had passed, you found yourself one again flinging your arms around Dean’s neck and hugging him tightly. Ignoring John’s disapproving eye, Dean hugged you back and seemed genuinely happy to see you.

“It’s been a minute,” he said shoving his hands into the pocket of his coat; a twinkle of excitement in his eyes. “How’ve you been?”

“Not time for that Dean,” John barked, then turned to you, “Bobby says your father is turning his head to the situation?”

“He won’t acknowledge its happening again. Whatever  _it_  is,” you said and finished with a frustrated sigh.

“He never explained it to you?” Dean asked surprised but quickly backed off with one look from John.

“That’s her father’s choice, son. Not yours to judge.”

“Yes sir,” Dean said and took a step back from you.

It was the next night, that you and Dean had your first real encounter. Somehow John had broken through your father’s wall and convinced him to do whatever it was he had to do. You and Annie, though now technically adults, were banished to your room for the duration of the Winchester’s stay. Annie, who didn’t get to know them the first time, couldn’t have cared less, but you were devastated.

Once she was asleep, you climbed from your window and walked the three miles to the efficiency suits where the Winchesters were staying. You found them in Room 6. John was busy with your dad, and you found Sam and Dean watching a football game and arguing over something stupid. Dean’s face lit up when he saw you at the door and yanked you inside quickly.

You spent most of the evening sat between them and laughing and arguing over whatever was on the television. Sam was tired and excused himself to the bedroom, leaving you and Dean on your own. It took only minutes for him to kiss you, and not too long after that, he had all of you. It hadn’t been your first time, but it was the first time you could understand why people loved sex so much.

Afterward, you asked him the questions you always wanted answers too. What had happened to your sister back then? What was causing it to happen again now? That was when you learned the truth. The truth about what was out there under the surface of civilized society, stirring up bodies and going bump in the night.

Shocked and scared, Dean was sweet and held you. He listened to your questions and was patient while you tried to process all he was saying. When you had to go, he walked you the three miles home and waited until you signaled him from your room that all was well.  

It wasn’t.

A dark figure was hunched over your sister’s almost lifeless body. You turned back towards the window and called for him. But it was too late. It flew past you with a high-pitched scream and hurled itself out of the window, knocking you down in the process.

From there it was a blur. Your mother barging into the room, hearing Dean pounding on the front door, Annie’s body before you with her skin grey and lifeless. All you could remember was falling to your knees and screaming her name before the world went black around you.

* * *

 

Her death was ruled as natural due to health issues. The Winchesters didn’t stay for the funeral. Two days after Annie died, your father came to you and told you the truth that you’d already heard from Dean. After that conversation, it was never brought up again. Your parents mourned for their daughter and completely left you out of the grieving process.

Two months later, the letters started again. They were much more detailed and heartfelt than the first time, and way more personal. Dean poured his heart out in apologies about Annie, expelling the guilt he felt at her loss.

 

> “… _the losses pile up, and sometimes it hurts bad. The kind of bad you didn’t think was possible. But you gotta keep going. For Annie, for me…”_

You didn’t have any ill will against him, but the loathing you felt towards yourself was vast and deep. At times his words were all you had to help you through the worst of the days. When he opened up to you, you felt more at ease. The way he trusted you made you feel important and needed.

 

> “… _stuck in another crappy motel for a few nights. Maybe if you were here it’d be better. I think about you a lot. I probably shouldn’t, but can’t always help it…”_

With each new piece of mail, Dean told you things that you imagined he would have never repeated to anyone else. You wrote back, asked him how he was able to live with what he saw happen to people. Begged him to tell you how to make sense of it all in your head. But he never answered those questions.

You assumed he hadn’t been to Bobby’s in a while to get the letters, because he never answered your specific questions, only wrote in a stream of consciousness that one usually reserved for their personal journals. Dean made you feel like you  _were_  his personal journal the way he confessed everything in his head and heart.

 

> “… _sometimes it’s hard to keep my head up and focused. I need too, or they could both get hurt. Sammy’s hunting less and less, fighting with Dad more. How the hell am I supposed to keep them both alive when they can’t stop trying to be right all the time…”_

Some days, his letters were all you had. You would take out the old shoebox and read through his thirteen-year-old handwriting and smile. One of the last letters though was the one that gave you the hope that things could get better… one day.

 

> “ _…I sorta wish I could come get you and we could just take off. Let my dad and your parents handle shit and just be gone. We deserve that, don’t we? No monsters, just a happy life somewhere. Promise I’d let you have the first turn on Super Mario!”_

Then, three months later, the final letter came. It was about a year after Annie’s death. Dean went into detail about how Sam was leaving them and going away to college. He said this would be the last one. That he was going out to hunt on his own, breaking away from John whenever he could and he wanted to do so with no attachments.

 

> _“…I gotta prove to him I can do this. With Sam gone, I’m all he’s got. So, like a good soldier, I gotta do what I hate doing. No distractions. I can’t have them with what I gotta do **. I only wish you weren’t my friend, because then I could hurt you in the end.**  But you are so much more than my friend, so I have to hurt you and say goodbye. I hope you’ll be alright and not let any of what happened eat you up. Please don’t hate me…_
> 
>                                                                                          -  _Dean”_

Everything changed after that. College, a part-time job—it all seemed pointless and obsolete. Without his letters, you found yourself lost in the mundane parts of merely existing. Your parents never really recovered from Annie’s death and had stopped speaking to you completely.

On the anniversary of that night, your father came to your room and told you that you had one month to pack up and go live on campus. He said they didn’t blame you for her death, but their expressions and body language betrayed the lie.

The next day, you had a bag packed, withdrew all the money from your savings account and left home, never to return.

Now, years later, as you sat in the deserted parking lot, the memory of that day you left felt as fresh as the blood on your hands was. It was the day you started hunting. Partially to try and seek revenge for Annie, and partially to try and find Dean. The hope he’d given you through the letters was all you had pushing you forward. So, you used it, along with everything you could learn about monsters, and set out to hunt.

* * *

 

Twelve years into hunting, and you’d only ever caught a whiff of their names. Sam and Dean Winchester, the hunters who let the Devil free and stopped the apocalypse from ending the World, were just dust in the wind. Some reported their deaths, other hunters told tales of killing a vamp nest with them somewhere down in Louisiana, or maybe a werewolf in Oregon. A few times you’d driven to the address in South Dakota that you had for Bobby Singer, but never worked up the nerve to knock.

After a few years, you could feel yourself become cold to the job. It became about lashing out at the beasts you hunted and less about revenge or finding Dean. The box of his letters was tucked away in the trunk of your car, and no longer opened. Occasionally, at night when the whiskey was doing its job, you’d close your eyes and remember the night you spent with him and then chastise yourself for girlhood fantasies.

“It was never real,” you’d moan into the emptiness around you, “none of it. I was just another girl, from just another town.”

The silence spoke back in volumes, your parents’ voices in your ears blaming you for loving Dean more than Annie. They hadn’t said it of course, but your inner dialogue couldn’t care less about the actual facts and only plagued you with simulated situations that hurt the most.

The hangover was brutal, but you were up and functioning the next day. A new case involving a mysterious death had you dressed in your “work” attire as an investigative journalist doing a piece for some random magazine. A well-dressed, good-looking older man approached you, flashing his FBI badge quickly and questioning your presence around the crime scene. After a few moments of conversation, you realized he too was a hunter.

“Stayin’ local?” he asked as he handed you his false Agency card.

“Yeah. You know that place on Main, uh,  _Frankie’s,_  I think,” you asked, tucking the card into your pocket without looking. He nodded. “Meet me there at eight to compare notes?”

“Eight it is,” he replied, and turned back towards the crime scene.

Later that night, he entered the bar looking far different from the nice suit and wing tips. Now, he was dressed in layers of flannel with a blue puffer vest and trucker cap.

He saw you sitting alone at the table and headed your way. As he sat, the waitress approached and took your order for another round, including a few shots each of bourbon.

You nodded a greeting and smiled, “I’m (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), good meeting you.”

“Bobby Singer,” he said holding out his hand, “don’t believe I remember you from ‘round the usual watering holes. Nice to meet ya.”

You were shaking his hand, but hearing his name hindered your ability to speak your own name. “Bobby, Singer? Bobby Singer from South Dakota?”

“The one and only,” he said and narrowed his eyes at you, “whoever spilled the beans about me, hope it was all good things.”

“We’ve spoken before, actually,” you said and quickly swallowed one of the shots that just arrived. “Years ago. I called you lookin’ for John Winchester.”

Bobby sat back in his seat and let his memory wander. His face lit up in recognition and he nodded. “Right, I do remember now. Had to be ‘bout, what, ten years ago?”

“Twelve.”

“I’ll be damned. John never did tell me how that went. Everything go alright?”

Vile rose in your throat just as your stomach processed the bourbon. You reached for the second shot, shaking your head as you slammed the glass back to the table.

“No, it didn’t.”

Bobby grabbed his first shot and took it down. “I’m real damn sorry, kid.”

You couldn’t help but cackle, “It’s been a long time since I was a kid.”

“Well, the sentiment’s the same. Real sorry for whoever it was you lost.”

You studied Bobby’s face and saw in it the kind of compassion only one who’s suffered in the same way could give. “Guess we all have a story, huh?”

“Sure do. But, can’t do much about those now, can we? Better to focus on what we can do.”

“Bobby, before we talk about this case… I gotta ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“I used to mail letters to your house, for Dean. Do you know if he ever got them?”

Bobby’s face fell into a look of regret. “Oh damn, the letters, they were from you?”

“Did he?” Years of pent up love, rage, hope, and despair were wrapped up in those two words, and your ability to handle them or not was solely hinged on Bobby’s answer.

“He got a couple when you all were kids. But John found’em, made him stop writing to ya. He told me if I got any more I should burn ‘em.”

“What about later on, when they came back… I sent more then, too, did he—”

Bobby shook his head. “I didn’t burn ‘em, but I didn’t give ‘em to Dean either. I’m sorry. John was fightin’ with those boys constantly. Just didn’t seem the right time. I always planned on givin’em to him, but things haven’t exactly been light and breezy all these years.”

Your head was swirling in bourbon and revelations. All this time you both loved and hated Dean for giving you hope and then taking it away with no warning. But maybe because he didn’t get the letters, he thought you didn’t care and so he let go first. All these years later, did it still matter?  _Yes,_ you thought,  _it did_.

You grabbed for your beer, but Bobby gently laid his hand over it so you couldn’t take it. “Easy, alright? There is work to do,” he paused, and saw that your head was not on the case, nor would it be. “Did he write to you? Cause I do remember John tellin’ him to knock that off.”

You nodded, and Bobby released his hand from your bottle. Pulling from it slowly, you finally put it down and smiled painfully. “Have a damn box full of bullshit that meant nothing.”

Bobby sat forward, his index finger wagging at you with each word. “Bullshit? Look girly, if Dean was writing you enough letters to fill a box, you best believe it wasn’t bullshit. That boy wouldn’t bother with ya if it ya didn’t mean somethin’ to him.”

Bobby dug deeply into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Within seconds he navigated his contacts and showed you Dean’s name on the screen. “We can call him right now if you wanna.”

Your heart felt like it could beat itself right out of your chest. This was the closest you’ve been to Dean Winchester in a long time and the temptation was overwhelming. You thought back to his last letter when he told you that you were more than a friend, and that’s why he had to hurt you by saying goodbye. That’s who Dean was. He sacrificed what he wanted for the greater good. It was why he was probably still alive now, and still hunting.

“All the stories about them true?” you asked, still staring at Bobby’s phone, now laid on the table in front of you.

“Which ones?”

“Lucifer, the apocalypse? Did they really stop it?”

Bobby nodded and sighed. “Had a front row seat for the show myself. Watched it all go down.”

It was your turn to sit back in your chair as the knowledge you’d just gained sunk in.

“Wanna make the call?” Bobby asked again, nudging the phone towards you.

“No.” You slid the phone back to him and saw he was unsure of what to say. “I know the truth now, that’s all that matters. If he’d gotten the letters, maybe he wouldn’t be doing all the good he’s doing,” you shrugged and finished your beer, fully knowing that you meant what you said, but deep down you still believed you meant nothing to Dean.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he said and watched in confusion as you stood up and threw a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “What’s that for?”

“My way of apologizing for running out on ya,” you said, “I can’t stay here Bobby. I’ll be too tempted to make that call. Dean and I… we’re better off where we are. If we were face to face after all these years, wouldn’t be good for anyone. But, I don’t trust myself to leave it be. It’s just better if I go.”

You forced a smile and clapped him on the shoulder before heading out the door. “Good to finally put a face with the legend though.”

Sitting in the front seat of your car and taking some time to sober up, you finally felt like you could move on; both with your current location and the rest of your life. Bobby could handle the current case, and you could do anything you wanted too. Continue hunting, start a new life somewhere else… it didn’t matter. You knew the truth, and that helped, but it was too late for you and your heart. You’d lost your smile years before, and your heart shortly thereafter. Sadly, you couldn’t see any way to revive either one.

You started your car and set out on the open road. Your mind kept circling around to Dean and how close you’d come to him again and began to replay the childish fantasy you once lived for. You could feel the pain seeping in, and suddenly jerked the car to the side of the road right before a long stretch of a bridge.

You popped the trunk and went around to the back. Digging through your tools you found the box with Dean’s letters and pulled out the last one he wrote. You shoved it in your pocket, closed the box and started walking towards the middle of the bridge. Leaning over the edge, you opened the lid and watched as the letters cascaded down to the river below. Some caught on the wind and were swept away, others landed in the icy water.

As you watched them disappear into the darkness, you looked up at the stars and whispered, “I’m done hoping Dean, I’m done. I’m letting you go.”

When you got back to the car, you touched the final one you kept in your pocket. It was a reminder, should the feeling of hope arise again, it would be something that could bring you back to the reality you knew you were meant for–being alone.

* * *

 

## Three Days Later…

“Do you know why he wanted us here?” Sam asked as Dean steered the Impala into Singer Automotive. Bobby’s old car was parked in its normal spot and Dean took the one next to it, turning off the engine.

“No, he didn’t really say. Just to come when we could,” Dean shrugged and tucked the keys in his coat pocket. “Don’t mind the visit though, been a while since we’ve been home.”

Sam and Dean entered through the back door without knocking as they usually did. They found Bobby in his normal place behind his desk, hunched over an old book.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam called cheerfully, “How goes it?”

“Heya boys, glad you were able to pop in. I know you keep such a busy schedule these days. Maybe next time I’ll get my secretary to call yours and you can pencil me in,” he retorted sarcastically.

Pushing back from the desk, Bobby rose with a groan, eliciting a concerned look exchanged between the brothers.

“You alright, Bobby? You’re surlier and a little slower than usual,” Dean smirked.

“Watch it, boy, I’ll still run circles around your smartass,” Bobby warned, as he moved past them to the bookshelf on the far wall. “I asked ya here ‘cause I got somethin’ for ya.”

They watched him retrieve a dusty old box that had been tucked away behind years’ worth of clutter. He handed it to Dean, who took it suspiciously and went to sit on the couch with it.

“Now, before you open it up, I gotta say I’m sorry. You should’ve had these years ago.”

“What are they?” Dean asked but didn’t need Bobby’s reply. He touched the tops of the old, yellowed envelopes, and looked up at his surrogate father. Dean’s eyes were wide with an undeterminable emotion that not even Sam could read.

“Dean? What are they?” he asked, glancing between Bobby and his brother.

“Letters,” Bobby answered. “Letters your dad wanted me to burn, but I couldn’t. After he was gone, I forgot about them.”

“Letters from who?” Sam asked, still confused. He sat next to Dean and tried to take one from the box, but Dean smacked his hand away and gave him a warning look.

“Bobby, why now? What in the hell would make you think of these now?” Dean asked, his demeanor getting more irate. “Bobby, please, you gotta tell me… why now?!”

“I sorta worked a case with her last week,” Bobby shrugged and knew by Dean’s expression that he was in for it. “I tried to get her to call you, but she said no.”

“She’s hunting?!” Dean roared and stood from the couch, nearly spilling the box all over the floor.

“Who?” Sam asked again, getting frustrated that neither Bobby nor Dean would answer him. He bypassed Dean this time and grabbed an envelope from the box. When he saw the return address, understanding washed over him. He sat back against the cushions and blew a gust of air from his lips. “Damn. I remember her. I remember you with her. I remember—”

“Shut it, Sam,” Dean mumbled and snatched the letter from his hand. Stepping over him Dean took the box and left the room.

With the box tucked under his arm, Dean went to take a beer from the fridge. He opened it, gulped down half and sat at the small kitchen table with the box in front of him. He started with the first letter. Dean swallowed hard as he pulled the paper from the envelope. It still smelled like her perfume. He slowly unfolded it and desperately tried to fight back all of the memories of her he’d locked away. But no sooner did he see her handwriting and the words, “ _Dear Dean_ ,” they all came flooding back.

Dean leaned forward in his chair, one hand gripping his hair and cradling his head, the other holding the letter, as one lone tear slowly slid down his cheek as he read the letters he never thought existed.

 


	2. The Letters: "Dear Dean"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s POV and his reaction to getting her letters. He seeks out an old friend to help him locate her and try to make amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two song prompts for this conclusion - Dust to Dust by the Civil Wars and Layla by Eric Clapton. Any song lyrics used are bolded within the fic.

“Dean,” Sam lightly shook his shoulder. “Dean wake up.”

“Hmm,” Dean moaned, trying to lift his head from where it rested on his arm and against Bobby’s kitchen table. He pushed himself up, his head pounding which wasn’t made any better when his arm toppled over the army of empty bottles beside him.

“How ya feelin’ there champ?” Sam asked, half amused by his brother’s condition.

Dean looked up at Sam, one eye squinted against the unusual brightness of the room. “Bite me. But, make coffee first.”

Sam snorted a laugh, “Right, grumpy, hungover Dean. Fun.” He turned towards the counter and went about the kitchen making coffee.

The letters were still scattered around the table. Dean started to gather them up slowly and with great care. Sam watched from the corner of his eye as his brother methodically put them back into the box and carefully closed the lid.

“You get through all of those?”

“Most. What time is it anyway?”

“Seven. Bobby ran out for grub. Thought you’d wanna wake up a bit before he got back. Maybe, you know… shower,” Sam raised his eyebrows and grabbed the mugs for the coffee.

Dean wrinkled his nose at his brother in annoyance but was able to get a whiff of himself. He tackled Bobby’s last six-pack on his own and then helped himself to a few shots of the whiskey that was in the cabinet. The night neck deep in booze seemed to be oozing through his pores.

“I’ll get to it,” he grumbled and looked back at the box. He’d read most of them. They were hard to get through and he made sure to read each one more than once. It didn’t matter that so many years had passed, with each line Dean was right back in that moment when she existed as a real possibility.

Dean could hear Sam talking a few steps away, but the haze he felt muffled his brother’s words. “Sam… look, whatever it is, can it wait? My head is just a bowl of oatmeal and I need coffee.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sam grabbed the pot and poured a mug for Dean, setting it off to his side. Not bothering with milk or sugar, Dean sipped at the mug and tried to focus on sober thinking before Bobby got back. He had some questions he needed answers to, and Bobby was the only link he had to Y/N.

Despite the temperature of the coffee, he finished it quickly and went to leave the kitchen to go shower. He stopped halfway through the study and turned back into the kitchen. He grabbed the box of letters, flashed Sam a crabby glare and headed upstairs.

An hour later, Bobby returned with a few greased-stained brown bags and three large Styrofoam coffees.

“He among the living?” Bobby asked, surveying the bottles still strewn across his table.

“If you can call it that,” Sam remarked and went back to his book.

Bobby shook his head and grabbed the empties, tossing them into the trash. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given him the letters,” he grumbled to himself.

Sam looked up thoughtfully and closed his book. “Bobby, however, he reacts to them, that’s not on you.”

“If I’d ignored John and just gave him the damn box…”

“Bobby, c’mon. It’s not your fault that he sat here and drank himself to sleep. Hell, that’s a Tuesday for him.”

“I usually save the blackout drinkin’ for Thursdays, but, whatever…” Dean said as he shuffled through the kitchen, now freshly showered but still sullen. He tossed the box on the table and turned to Bobby. “I got some questions.”

Bobby leaned against the edge of the counter and crossed his arms. “I’ll try and have some answers.”

“How long has she been hunting?”

“She didn’t mention. I ran into her on that Siren thing last week,” Bobby shrugged, “I don’t think I spent more than an hour with the girl.”

“Last week? And you didn’t—” he stopped himself from exploding and continued his questions. “How’d she seem?”

“Seem? Hell, I dunno. She’s a hunter, Dean, she seemed like a hunter workin’ a case. At least she drank like a Hunter.”

“She’s not supposed to be a hunter,” Dean mumbled angrily, “She’s supposed to be off living her best life. Not knee deep in blood and guts, risking her life for any damn thing.”

Bobby and Sam exchanged a concerned look that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean. “Look, I’m just trying to figure out what the hell happened, okay? You think something’s done and over, put it away with all the other shit you don’t ever wanna think about. When it suddenly pops back up in your face, sometimes you just need… answers. I need answers, ok?”

“To what, exactly?” Sam asked. “Why she hunts? Her sister died, Dean. She died because of a creature that shouldn’t exist. Maybe she needed answers of her own. Isn’t that why most of us become hunters?”

Dean’s face went cold. “That, or you’re forced into it,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Dean, that’s not fair,” Sam warned him. “Dude, do not go down this road, it’s not gonna do anyone any good.”

“You remember that night though, right Sam? When Dad found my letter to her? He told me to give up the dream, stop writing her, or else…” Sam nodded regretfully. “Did you know he let me write her one more time? But he basically told me what to say. I had to give her the, ‘ _I can’t have any distractions because hunting with my family is my life_ ’ speech. Do you have any idea how that tore me apart inside?!” His voice was growing louder, a putrid bout of emotion about to spill all over Bobby’s kitchen.

“Dean,” Bobby said cautiously, able to see how deeply his boy was being affected by the whole situation. He wanted to bring him back to the present; focus on the now. “I wish I could tell you more. We were supposed to try and work the case, but once she knew who I was, you were all she wanted to talk about. I offered to call you, she said no. After that, she left. Said that if she stayed to work the case she’d be too tempted to call you.”

Dean nodded to himself, a mix of pain and sadness flashed across his face. “I don’t suppose you happen to get her number?” Bobby shook his head. “Awesome,” Dean said with a mocking smile.

He grabbed one of the greasy bags and plopped down in a chair. Taking out the paper wrapped food, he felt them both staring at him. “What?”

“I’ve just never seen you like this,” Sam said, taking the seat across from him. “I’ve seen you get mopey over a girl, but this is a whole other level. This is… sad. You’re sad. Not like, pathetic, but genuinely—”

Dean held his hand up and closed his eyes. “Sam, I beg of you to just stop.”

Dean bit into his breakfast sandwich and looked back at the box. As he inhaled the feast in front of him, he thought back to the things he wrote in his letters to Y/N. Even though it was years ago, he could recall a lot of the things he confessed to her. He never really understood why it was so easy to, but it was. She was one of the very few people in his life that he felt he could really be himself with. The only other ones were sitting in the room with him chowing down on some drive-thru fare.

Bobby and Sam started discussing a possible case Bobby caught wind of, but Dean’s mind was far away, in miles and years. His memory brought him back to that night at the motel room; the night she became way more than a friend.

Dean didn’t want that moment to end, ever. They had sex, but this was much more intimate; the afterwards. They were laying on the couch completely naked, a single sheet barely covering them. He remembers how she hovered above him, her face was flushed red and small traces of sweat lined her brow. She was beautiful, and when she smiled, he thought life couldn’t get any better. Then she bent down and kissed him softly and whispered,  ** _“_** ** _We’ve been lonely, too long.”_**

That hit him hard. No one had ever looked through him and saw the depths of his loneliness like she could and he assumed it was because it ran just as deeply in her, too. The way she looked at him, the way her smile went slightly crooked when he made her laugh, it gave him a sense of fulfillment that he didn’t think was possible. That moment was all it took to etch her in his heart forever. No one that came before her, or after her, would touch him the way she did.

“So, you in?” Bobby asked, and Sam nodded. They both looked to Dean who was gazing off into nothing with the last bite his sandwich hovering before his lips just waiting to be eaten. “Dean?”

Bobby waved his hand before Dean’s blank stare and getting the attention he wanted. “You alright?”

He dropped the last bite and brushed off his hands together. “Yeah, sure. What’s happening?”

“Did you hear anything we were saying?”

“No man, sorry.”

“Why don’t you just hang here. Bobby and I can handle the case. You deal with that,” Sam said and waved his hand towards the box. “Bobby and I can look into a werewolf on our own.”

“Werewolf?” Dean asked, still not sure what they were talking about.

“The case Bobby caught—nevermind. It’s a two-hour drive, we’ll do the job and meet you back here, alright? I’ll leave the details on Bobby’s desk. Just do me a favor, please. Actually,  _deal_  with it. Don’t just drink yourself stupid and smash stuff.”

Dean nodded. He was grateful for them to take the helm on the job and leave him to his thoughts. He’d just be a distraction and as long as they were hunting together, Dean wouldn’t have to worry about them getting hurt.

An hour after Bobby and Sam took off in his old Chevelle, Dean was once again sitting on the couch, staring at the box.

“This is stupid,” he said and got up. He was going to grab a beer and remembered his promise to Sam. He growled in frustration and began pacing around the study trying to decide what he should do. Finish reading the letters? Try and locate where she is? Figure out if he even wants to know…

He finally sat back down and opened the box. He went to the last two letters that were still unopened. A check of the postmark dates confirmed that they were both sent after she must have received the last two he sent. In the one, he wanted to run away with her, in the next, he was leaving her behind.

Anger and pain ripped through his chest thinking about it. He was angry at himself for the hurt he probably caused but angrier with John. Dean was always the good son, did everything he was told for the most part. He took care of Sam, trained whenever John told him too, sharpened his skills; but the second he found something for himself, there was his father, taking it away. The worst part was that he did it in the vein of keeping his boys safe.

“Safe, my ass,” Dean mumbled, toying with the edges of the envelopes.

The two letters he had been able to get from her when they were younger stayed with him for a long time. He kept them folded away in his gear, tucked way back so John wouldn’t find them.

 

> _“…you’re the best friend I’ve ever had Dean. Even more than Annie. I mean, she’s cool and all, but you just get me. Is that weird? I miss hanging out with you. I don’t feel so lonely when you’re here. I’m glad everyone’s alright, but I wish you guys could have stuck around longer…”_

He’d read them over and over and had wondered whatever happened to the rest. But after the confrontations with his father over then, Dean never dared to ask Bobby if he had them. Now that they were here, he held the final two and debated on reading them, knowing they would probably be chalk full of memories he was afraid to tap into. Sighing, he opened the envelope and began reading.

It started the same as the others,  _Dear Dean_ , and continued with a similar narrative as the ones he read the night before. Her parents were shutting her out, making her feel cold in her own home. They pretended none of it happened, and she was being swallowed by the loneliness she felt. She responded to his idea of running away, by begging him to come and steal her away for a better life somewhere else; one where they wouldn’t be lonely any longer.

> _“…remember that night in the motel? I told you we’d been lonely too long? The music was playing, Clapton, right? Yes! It was Layla…_   **‘like a fool, I fell in love with you, turned my whole world upside down** ’ …  _not trying to be dramatic, but I did fall in love with you that night. That night meant everything, and I just want to be with you again like that. So, if you do come, honk twice and I’ll be there in sixty seconds flat…”_

Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he choked back the lump that formed. His chest ached with so much regret and anger, and there was nowhere to make it go. Forcing himself to absorb it all, he kept reading to the end, where she again makes a plea for him to come.

But of course, he never did. He wasn’t allowed too.

Dean put the letter away and closed the box. He didn’t want to know what the last one said, not yet. But at least now he had an answer to one of his questions – he did need to find her.

The best way to find a Hunter was to talk to other Hunters. Going through his contacts list, he called every Hunter he knew. Each call started with a bit of small talk, then the question of,  _by the way, do you know a hunter named Y/F/N Y/L/N?_  A few thought the name was familiar, one even worked a case with her the year before down in Florida. None of them had current contact information, and as Dean ended the call on the last person listed, he fought the urge to smash his phone against the wall.

Instead, he turned and threw it against the couch. It bounced off and tumbled to the floor. Dean rolled his eyes and picked it up. As he checked it for cracks, he noticed that the contacts were still open, and the name  _Missouri_ was selected, all he had to do was hit ‘call’.

Smiling, he pressed the button and waited anxiously for her to answer the call. He heard the ring stop and her voice fill the other end.

“Well, Dean Winchester, this  _is_  a surprise.”

“Hi Missouri, been a long time.”

“Should I be expectin’ a visit from you soon, honey?”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s about right.”

“Ok, I’ll be here.”

[Originally posted by missmegrose](https://tmblr.co/ZmbPoruUlvhi)

 

Dean arrived in Lawrence about six hours later. Missouri opened the door to greet with him a huge smile and arms open wide. The second she touched him, her expression changed, and she could feel the wall of anger around him as if it was made of real concrete.

“Oh, Dean, you best get in here and start explainin’ why you feel like you wanna tear somebody’s head off.” She pulled him into a tight bear hug and closed the door.

“Good to see you too,” he said smiling, but knew she’d see right through it.

“Spill it boy. Your daddy is long gone, so why in the world are you madder than a wet hen?”

Dean placed his duffle bag down and pulled out the box of letters. “Because of these.”

He handed them to her, and the moment her fingers touched the box, she could feel such a rush of love and longing, her eyes instantly filled with tears.

Missouri didn’t speak, she just turned and carried the box into the living room. She treated it with kid gloves when resting it on the table and lifting the lid. Her eyes flickered up to Dean who was meandering into he room behind her, his hands shoved down in his pockets like a little boy. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were heavy with a mix of anger, sadness and love.

“I need to find her,” he said softly. “I know you can’t just pick facts out of the air, but if you can give me anything—”

“Dean, honey, sit down,” she said and patted the space next to her. “You’re right, I can’t just pull information out of nothing. But these aren’t nothing. These are strong with energy, and… did she lose someone? A sister?” Dean nodded. “Good, we can try and talk to…”

“Annie,”

“Annie. Ok, before we do that… Dean, your father—”

“No. Don’t. Missouri, I mean no disrespect to you, but talking about my father right now is not a good idea.”

“Dean, that’s when it’s the best idea. He did what he did to try and protect you. And if you want this to work, you want to find her, you’re gonna have to let go of what you’re feelin’.”

Dean shook his head and let his memory go back to that day that John caught him writing her for the last time…

_They were somewhere in Wisconsin and stuck in another crappy motel room. John and Sam were arguing about something, as per usual, and Dean was hold up in the corner, pretending to write notes about a case they were working but was really writing her about when he could come to get her. He’d decided, no more hunting. He didn’t know if she got the letter but was going to take the chance of going anyway. He’d steal a car, and haul ass to her house. It wasn’t too far, after all, he could get her and disappear, no one would care or come looking._

_The argument grew louder, and Dean put his notebook down to try and be the referee again. Since Sam had gotten his acceptance letter, all they did was fight which increased tenfold the closer they got to his departure date. In a rage, John got angry and swiped everything from the table to the floor, sending Dean’s letter right in his line of sight._

_“What the Hell is this?” he roared, “I told you to stop writing her!”_

_“Why do you care?” Dean yelled back. He wasn’t thirteen anymore, he was a grown man who shouldn’t be treated like a child. “She’s just a friend, dad.”_

_“A friend, right. Do you know her father wanted to charge you with murder?! Do you? He blames you for Annie’s death! He doesn’t want to believe some monster caused it. The only reason you’re sitting here instead of some prison cell is that I made sure the coroner listed natural causes!”_

_Dean was taken aback by John’s admission. “That’s her father, that’s not her!”_

_“I don’t care, Dean!” John tore the notebook in half. He was about to throw it in the trash when he saw what Dean had written. He scanned both halves, and the look he wore was one of the scariest things Dean had ever seen. John’s voice was calm, but there was no serenity in how he approached his oldest son. “You wanted to leave? Runaway? Why? Because some pretty girl let you have your way with her? God dammit Dean! Here I am worried about your brother taking off for school, and you’re worried about some damn girl?! Just a friend, huh?!”_

_“Dad, I—”_

_“No! The two of you are unbelievable. What we do, the things we know, finding the thing that killed your mother is what’s important! Not college, not girls! This is over, Dean. If I catch you writing to her again, I can promise you, you’ll wish her father had arrested you. Because jail will be preferable to what I do to you.”_

Dean came back to the present when he felt Missouri’s hand rest on his knee.

“He was scared for you,” she said, having relived the memory along with him. “He was scared he was losing both you and Sam. He was more scared in that moment, then the night of the fire. Controlling you like he did, was his way of keeping you close.”

“Yeah, well, his way sucked,” Dean grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re wrong, but it’s what it was. You wanna find her again? You gotta let that anger go. Concentrate on the love. ‘Cause, honey, that’s all that matters, and these letters are covered in it. There’s something deep here. Very deep. The kind of love that doesn’t come along but once a lifetime.”

Missouri smiled when she felt his body stiffen at her words. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

Dean shook his head again. “No, we haven’t seen each other in years. I put her out of my mind, and… now here she is.”

“Twin flames work that way sometimes. You can spend a lifetime apart, but once you meet, that person will never really leave your heart. They’ll always come back, somehow.”

“But why now?” Dean asked he couldn’t wrap his mind around why this all came about so many years later.

“She’s lonely, desperately so. Probably lonelier than you are,” she said and pursed her lips at Dean’s reactionary denial of her claim. “Boy, please. Your brother may be attached to your side, but you are the loneliest man I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t even know if she wants to see me. She had a chance and turned it down.”

“Why do you think that is? I swear you men are so obtuse. She loves you. Seeing you or hearing from you would break whatever wall she’s built up to you. The dust on her heart is thick, honey, she doesn’t know how to talk to you, though she desperately wants too.”

“You can feel that?” he asked, feeling hope rise in his heart for the first time since this all got stirred up again.

“I could feel it, yes. It’s the strongest thing I can feel from these,” she nodded towards the letters and patted his knee again. “Now, let’s see what we can do about finding your girl.”

Missouri pulled together what she needed for a séance, including a map of the continental U.S. and a pendulum. She worked her magic and used her abilities to cut through the veil and ask for Annie’s help. They sat waiting and asking for more than an hour; with each minute that passed, Dean began losing any hope he’d built up.

“Dean be polite and ask the girl for her help. You knew her, she may come for you.”

“Barely, but… alright.” Dean cleared his throat and closed his eyes. He thought about Y/N, about how much he needed to see her, to apologize, to touch her again even if it was only one more time. “Annie, please… if you can help me find Y/N if you’re watching over her, please. I—I love her, always have. I’m sorry for—”

A light breeze blew through the room, making the candles flicker right along with the small desk lamp behind them. Missouri picked up the pendulum and it immediately began to swing in wide sweeping circles. Both she and Dean watched with wide eyes as it went back and forth, gaining enough momentum before finally dropping onto a place on the map.

Dean shrugged with his expression and sighed, “Guess I’m off to Texas.”

“It’s a start,” Missouri said and thanked Annie for her help. The candles steadied, as did the light. “Can I convince you to stay for dinner?”

“I’d love too, honestly, but—”

“Your girl waits. I get it. You be sure to bring her around once you find her. I’d love to meet the one that was able to capture Dean Winchester’s wild heart,” Missouri smacked him in the chest and chuckled demurely.

“Thank you, Missouri. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Don’t mess this up, that’s how. I’ve been doing this a lot of years, and I’ve faced a whole lot of things in that time. The love that comes through here,” she motioned between the letters and Dean, “that’s timeless. That’s not something you want to mess up.”

Her words of warning weighed heavy on him, but he had no intention of messing it up. “Scout’s honor, I won’t,” he said, holding the salute and winking.

“Hmm, Scout, huh? Sure, boy. Now go, daylight’s wastin’!”

Dean kissed her cheek and gave her a hard squeeze. Within minutes he was speeding down her road towards the closest highway that would take him to where the pendulum landed.

[Originally posted by littlepawz](https://tmblr.co/Z_5hrw20pFSas)

 

It was nearly nighttime when you opened your eyes. The pounding on the motel room door mixed with the thumping on your head, making it hard to distinguish which was which.

“Check out was noon!” The voice boomed through the door. “Get out or pay for another night!”

“Just gimme another night!” you yelled back to the detriment of your headache. “I’ll be gone by dawn.”

“That’s what you said last night!”

You just rolled your eyes and put a pillow over your face, trying to block out the noise.

He must have given up and walked away because after that the shouting blessedly stopped. You pulled yourself out of bed and trudged to the shower to wash away the previous nights’ bout of booze.

The shower and several cups of coffee helped to clear up your headache enough for you to scarf down a lukewarm meal at the diner across from the motel. You were thinking of going back to the bar, but another night of drinking wasn’t going to get Dean out of your mind.

You chastised yourself more than once since meeting Bobby, about not taking Dean’s number with you. You may not have been ready to call him then, but the next morning the need to do so was so overwhelmingly strong, you nearly turned around right then and headed back to find him working the case. Somehow your will won out and you kept driving.

A failed lead on a case led you to Dripping Springs, a beautiful, but small town in Texas. With nothing new on the radar, what else was there to do but think about Dean, and drink enough to stop thinking about Dean. He was creeping back into your mind again every second it wasn’t occupied with work or numbed by the drink. The letter you kept, the one where he said goodbye, wasn’t even enough now to make you angry enough to stop thinking about him. Reading it, over and over only made you feel lonelier and more isolated, and more certain that you wanted to talk to him, at least see him one more time. A deep ache rose in your chest and there were moments when the desire to hold him began was crushing.

After paying the bill, you walked a hundred yards over to the Red Lion, where the neon sign flashed erratically, and the atmosphere smelled like whiskey and broken dreams. But at least the beers were cheap, and the pool tables were level.

Finding a spot at the end of the bar, you ordered a beer and a shot and told the bartender to keep the shots coming.

“Really gonna do another night of binge drinking?” he asked, half amused half concerned.

You tossed back the shot and chased it with half the bottle of beer. “That answer your question?”

He grabbed the bottle of cheap bourbon and poured it into your glass. “It’s your liver.”

You raised the beer bottle in a mock ‘cheers’ and turned on the stool to face the rest of the room. All the pool tables were occupied, but the jukebox was free and clear. You went over to it and fished into your coat pocket for some change. Instead, your hand touched on something small, thin and rectangular. When you pulled it out, you realized you still had Bobby’s fake FBI business card.

[Originally posted by supernaturally-collected](https://tmblr.co/ZeLfNi26jidoz)

 

Dean had been driving around the town most of the day, trying to get a feel for where she could be, but nothing jumped out at him. He pulled over and called Bobby, hoping to have him or Sam do a bit of hacking to try and locate her. The only thing they could find was an out-of-the-way motel/bar/diner combo on the outskirts of the town proper.

“It’s is like a hunter’s trifecta,” Bobby said as he relayed the message, “If she ain’t there, I doubt she’s still in town.”

They chatted over the two miles it took Dean to get there. He listened absently as Bobby went on about the hunt they just got back from, his mind focused on how close he was to seeing here again. Bobby was in mid-sentence when Dean abruptly cut him off.

“Alright Bobby, I appreciate it. Tell Sam I said thanks, too,” Dean said, holding the phone to his ear and killing the Impala’s engine. “But, uh, I’m here, so I’ll call you back soon.”

He ended the call and looked up at the big red neon sign that was erratically flashing Red Lion Inn. Before getting out of the car, he reached into the box of letters and pulled out the last one he hadn’t read yet. Drawing in a deep breath, he opened the envelope and started reading.

> _Dear Dean,_
> 
> _The first letter you ever wrote me after Annie died, you asked me to hang on for her and for you. You asked me to have hope and believe that there was still good in the world._
> 
> _That was easy when that hope was you and the hint of a future with you was there. Even if it was just through your letters. That’s gone. My parents told me to go. So, I guess, that means I’m gone now too._
> 
> _I’ll never forget you, but I can’t promise to forgive you._

He sat for a few minutes, head back and eyes closed. Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all. The notion that she was most likely here somewhere made him paralyzed until he heard Missouri’s voice in his ears reiterating Sam’s words….  _Make sure you deal with it, boy. Don’t go messin’ this up._ Dean sighed deeply and got out of the car.

Dean decided to check the diner first, but she wasn’t there. He went to the motel and tried to get some information from the desk clerk. The guy was less than cooperative, saying he had no one there by that name. However, he did complain about a particular guest in room 6 that didn’t want to leave when she said she would. Dean slipped him a fifty-dollar bill and when he asked what she looked like, the clerk reluctantly described her.

Dean smiled and thanked him for the information. It was her. Of that, he had no doubt. When he stepped out of the small, sad motel office, he looked across the lot to the last place she could be.

* * *

 

You were sitting in the corner nursing your beer. It was the darkest possible corner of the dive had that wasn’t occupied. You were pretending to watch the horrific game of pool taking place in front of you, but your mind was far away. You were absently flipping Bobby’s card over and over in your fingers, and toying with the idea of calling him.

The woman playing in front of you let out a cackle that drew your attention to her. She was being playfully manhandled by the brute of a man she was with but was loving every second of it. The sounds and smells of the bar were becoming more noticeable the longer you sat there. Glasses were clanking, strangers were laughing and having a good time all around you. Watching the enjoyment, the other patrons were having, you realized you needed to leave. The bar was suddenly choking you as if the air was being sucked out.

You didn’t want to draw any attention to yourself, so you quickly finished your beer, pocketed the card and went to leave. There was a massive group of people blocking your way, including some guy taking forever at the jukebox. Skirting around the other way, you were nearly at the door when you heard the music start playing. It was loud enough to drown out all the other sounds. The guitar and the sharp rhythm of a snare drum started in, and you stopped cold in your tracks.

****

**_“What’ll you do when you get lonely_ **

**_And nobody’s waiting by your side?_ **

**_You’ve been running and hiding much too long._ **

**_You know its just your foolish pride.”_ **

“No,” you whispered to yourself as your heart began to pound. “It can’t be.” Still frozen, you felt like everyone was staring at you, but a cursory glance at those nearby showed they weren’t.

If not them, then who…

**_“Layla, you’ve got me on my knees._ **

**_Layla, I’m begging, darling please._ **

**_Layla, darling won’t you ease my worried mind.”_ **

You turned around, and everything else fell away. Dean was leaning against the side of the jukebox, watching you. It didn’t matter how many years had gone by, you would have known him anywhere.

He looked better now than he did then. A bit rougher around the edges, but more alluring than ever. Finding some movement in your feet, you took a few tentative steps his way, sure that he was going to fade away like a mirage. Was he real? So many years of chasing a ghost had dulled your ability to tell what was real and what wasn’t.

Dean smiled. Even from this distance, you could see the little crinkles around his eyes, and how the pout of his bottom lip became a bit more pronounced when he did. So many feelings were vying for control, but you ignored them and just watched as he began walking towards you. His hands were shoved into his pockets, just like the day he’d come back to town, same excited twinkle reflecting at you.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s been a minute,” he said, choking on the last words as he fought back his own bout of sentiment.

“Hey, Dean.” Your voice was so thick with years of pent-up need for him, the words barely escaped your lips.

“I got your letters. Finally.”

“Better late than never, right?”

Dean chuckled nervously, “Yeah.”

“Good pick on the jukebox,” you said, unsure of what to do or say. The man you thought of and dreamt about for a good portion of your life was standing in front of you, and you couldn’t think of anything more to say.

“Y/N…” Dean closed the gap and reached up to your face. He gently cradled your neck with his fingers, as his thumb brushed against your cheek. “I should’ve come to get you.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, trying not to sound desperate, but failing, despite your best efforts.

“I just, couldn’t. They’re my family, I couldn’t do it. I know you can’t forgive me, and I can’t make you understand. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so damn sorry.” Dean looked around the bar and saw it was getting louder and more crowded by the second. “Can we go somewhere else and continue this?”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him through the people towards the exit. Once you were in the parking lot and the fresh air hit your face, it also woke you up to everything that had just happened. You’d had so many conversations with him in your head, imagined a million different scenarios of what to say should you see him again. Now that it was happening. They were all gone.

When you were far from the entrance to the bar, you finally stopped and turned to face him. The moon was high but obscured by heavy cloud cover. Even in the weak illumination, you could make out his features, and just for a second, you saw the boy you fell in love with one October night twelve years ago.

“Fuck it, twelve years is long enough and I don’t want to wait anymore,” You grabbed the zippered edges of his coat and pulled him close, pausing only for a second to try and read his expression. What you saw there was exactly what you’d hoped for.

You kissed him, and he returned it with fervor. When you were finally able to pull yourselves apart, a crack of thunder rippled in the distance, and soft scattered drops of rain fell on your head.

“Maybe we should get inside somewhere,” he said, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands still gripping your hips keeping you from moving away.

“And talk?” you asked; tone playful, and heart racing.

“Yeah, talk. Lots of talking,” he said, wiggled his eyebrows friskily.

You chastised him with the rise of one brow, “Dean.”

“No,” he said with a chuckle, “I sincerely mean it. We do have some catching up to do.”

“Some?”

“A lot. Especially why you’re hunting…”

“I know. But there’s one thing I’d like to do first if that’s ok.”

“Sure, shoot. What is it?”

You led him to your room and opened the door. Once inside, you went over to the tv, and from behind it pulled out your old Nintendo console.

“Holy shit. Are you serious?” Dean asked and eagerly grabbed one of the paddles from your hand. “It still works?!”

“Sure does. Works great with these crappy ass motel TVs, too. Besides, I vaguely remember you promising me the first turn on Mario…”

Dean smiled like a child on Christmas morning and quickly discarded his coat over the chair. Dean took a seat on the bed, slightly bouncing up and down with anticipation.

You grabbed two beers from the mini fridge and handed him one. Sitting on the bed next to him for the first time in years made you feel the same sense of completion as you did the last time were with him. Finally, you didn’t feel so alone.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he said, his green eyes were shining like they did when he was a kid.

“Let’s,” you replied as you rested your head against him, and hit start on your controller.


End file.
